


What We're Meant to Be

by obstreperous



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Historical Inaccuracy, Lovers to Friends, Male-Female Friendship, Minor canon divergence, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Canon, Revenge, Romance, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-05-18 07:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19329643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstreperous/pseuds/obstreperous
Summary: Following the death of her parents, Arabella Johnson was taken under the wing of Josiah Trelawny and taught to lie, steal, and deceive. Now a prominent member of the Van der Linde gang, she must grapple with the growing tensions within the group, her past, and her growing feelings for their newest recruit.





	1. Hunted

“Arabella, run!”

The long grass whips up across her legs as she runs faster than she thinks she’s ever run before. Everything is blurring together – the mountains, the sun setting, the red-headed Irishman in front of her – and she’s unsure if it’s sweat, blood, or the blow to her head that’s making it so hard to see.

Her lungs are burning but she has to keep moving.

Everything was just happening so fast.

“C’mon, girlie. We gotta get to the tree line,” Sean says, pulling her along by the elbow.

“Jesus, that turned to shit quickly, didn’t it?” Mac gasps out from up ahead.

Arabella wipes a hand across her face and pulls a face when she sees flakes of dried blood come off on her hand. “Just don’t understand how it all went so wrong,” she pants, pumping her legs to keep up with the men.

The gunshots had stopped now, but that didn’t mean they were safe. If they made it into woods they might just be able to slip away.

The morning had been oddly calm. All of Dutch’s meticulous plans were in place to rob the ferry, and Arabella was almost ashamed to say it had seemed almost foolproof.

She was dressed to the nines as a wealthy tourist, armed to the teeth underneath her skirts in case something went pear-shaped. Charles and Javier had been with her, acting as bodyguards – not that she needed it. She may be physically small, but she made up for it with her handling of a gun.

The robbery itself had been going smoothly until Dutch snapped and executed that poor woman.

In the following chaos, she got cut off from the others, alongside Sean and Mac. Unfortunately for them, bounty hunters had taken chase as they saw them fleeing the town.

“Do you think we lost them?” Sean hisses as they stumble into the forest.

Arabella props herself up against a tree, lungs burning. “Hard to tell,” she says, looking around them. “Can’t hear them, but my ears have been ringing since Blackwater. Where’s Mac?”

Sean snorts. “Went ahead to scout. Someone had to stay back and help you and your short lil’ legs.”

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up. If it weren’t for my _short lil’ legs_ you’d be dead in Blackwater.”

“You don’t need to brag, y’know. I might not be a master marksman like yourself, but I’ve got my uses.”

“Such as?”

“Like–“

A twig snaps behind them, and the two spin around quickly, guns drawn.

“Oh, shit,” Sean breathes, eyes wide.

A large group of armed men approaches them, weaving through the trees with guns.

A large, scarred man with dark, greasy hair comes forward, holding Mac around the neck tightly. A gun is pressed to his forehead.

Arabella’s heart jumps into her throat.

“Now, I hear you three are in a touch of trouble with the law,” the scarred man drawls, eyeing them with amusement. “Something about a ferry?”

“Think you’ve got the wrong people, sir,” Arabella says slowly, eyes narrowed.

“I think the three of you are going to shut up and come along nicely.”

Arabella watches Sean out of the corner of her eye, ready to follow his lead. Her eyes flick down to her worn semi-automatic pistol. She didn’t have a lot of ammunition left – not enough to take on such a large group – but she could try.

Suddenly, Sean’s head snaps around and he lurches toward her. “Belle! Look out–"

She’s pulled off balance as something wraps tightly and firmly around her waist, and she’s yanked to the ground hard. She yelps as she feels her arms have been pinned by the lasso, and she twists around as the perpetrator approaches.

He crouches down to tie her keep and she lashes out with her feet, her boot clipping him in the cheek.

“Little whore,” he snarls, pressing a knee hard into her back to stop her from wriggling.

She cries out as sharp rocks dig into her already bruised ribs.

She cranes her head up to see Sean grappling with a group of men, all larger than him. He’s quickly overpowered and thrown to the ground, where he’s overpowered. A bandana is shoved into his mouth to stop his swearing.

Mac had been brought down much the same and he looks over to her with wild, angry eyes.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” the scarred man croons as he admires their handiwork.

It had all been over within a matter of minutes. 

“We’re gonna collect us quite a sum on your heads. Especially when you tell us where ol’ Dutch is hiding out.”

“Fuck you,” Arabella spits, glaring at the scarred man. The tall man on top of her digs his knee deeper into her back, and she groans.

“Now, that’s no way for a lady to speak,” the scarred man tuts. “Will you keep her quiet, Walt?”

“With pleasure,” the tall man, Walt, says gleefully.

He unstraps a rifle from his back. “Goodnight, little girl,” he sneers, a dangerous look in his eye. She opens her mouth to speak but suddenly a sharp explosion of pain rocks through her skull. Then there’s nothing.

* * *

 Things are hazy when Arabella finally comes to. Wherever she’s laying is cold and hard, and she’s having trouble placing herself. Did she have too much to drink back at camp and fall asleep on the ground outside?

Anxiety clutches at her chest as she tries to bring a hand up to her nurse her throbbing head. She pulls, hard, but her hands are stuck, bound behind her back.

Her eyes shoot open, adrenaline chasing away the groggy feeling of waking up. Everything comes back to her in a rush, and she feels lightheaded and ill.

The room she wakes up in is small and bare. The bounty hunters who had taken her there are obviously squatting with the amount of junk and rubbish lying around. The floor is wooden and dirty, and she can see a door on the far side of the room and one window, alongside an unlit fireplace. She tries to maneuver herself into a better position but winces as the ropes dig further into her skin.

She wished she could say she’d been in worse situations since joining the Van der Linde gang, but she'd be lying. In her seven years with them, she had been run-ins with bounty hunters before, sure, but never by anyone too competent – and never by anyone after as big a job as they’d just tried to pull. There was no chance this time of anyone coming back to Blackwater to save them – or, at least, not yet.

She thinks back to the night before the job, sitting by the campfire. Her chest tightens as she remembers joking with Javier, going over the plan with Dutch, re-reading the letter from Trelawny saying he'd see her soon.

She remembers walking through Blackwater to the ferry with Charles, and flushing when he told her she looked beautiful.

Would she ever see them again?

Her thoughts are broken by the sound of the door opening, and she watches helplessly as Mac and Sean are dumped unceremoniously back into the room, worse for wear.

“That’s right, you fuckers, run away!” Sean slurs, “It’ll take more than that to get Sean McGuire to talk!”

He flips himself around and gives Arabella a weak grin when he sees she’s awake. “Sure glad to see you up, lass.”

“You okay?” Arabella croaks, voice hoarse from lack of use. “How long have we been here?”

“Long enough,” Mac grunts. “They keep asking where Dutch is and they don’t believe that we actually don’t know. Who knows where they’ve gotten to.”

“Any chance of us getting out of here?”

Sean snorts in disbelief. “You think we don’t have a plan? We have a plan. Don’t we Mac?”

Mac grins, opening one of his bound hands to produce a small file. “Can’t believe you’d doubt us, Miss Johnson.”

Arabella smiles. “Never said I doubted you, boys.”

“We’re gonna wait until it’s a bit darker out and make a run for it,” Mac says.

“Inspired,” she drawls. “What are we going to–”

The door swings open again with a bang, and their heads jerk up in surprise. The scarred man grins when he sees her.

“Ah, sleeping beauty awakens. Time for all of us to have a little chat, I think.”

He enters the room, followed by two more men. Walt, the tall man from earlier, moves toward the fireplace to get a fire started. The other man moves toward Arabella, yanking her up by her dark, ashy brown hair to position her in a chair. She yelps, unable to get out of his grip. The scarred man stands in front of her as the other man ties her hands to the chair’s arms.

“Now, Miss Johnson. You’ve got bounties on your head in three different states–”

“What can I say, I’m a busy girl,” she drawls.

His eyes narrow. “You’re high up in the gang, aren’t you? Pretty little thing like you would be useful to Dutch and the boys. Hear you’re handy with a gun, too.”

“I do what I can.”

“I’m guessing an asset like yourself would know where Dutch and the rest of them miscreants have ran off to, right?”

Arabella rolls her eyes, wincing as the ropes dig further into her wrists. “The boys don’t know where they’ve gone, so why would I know any different? I don’t get what’s so hard for you and your boys to understand.”

“I think a little incentive should get at least _one_ of you talking,” he says, looking over to the fireplace. Walt pulls out a small pouch and slides a set of brass knuckles out onto his palm.

“Here you go, boss.”

Arabella’s blood runs cold. “What are you doing?” she asks, angry there’s a waiver in her voice as she speaks.

“The way I see it is, if you’re all scarred and bruised and marked up you probably won’t be much use to ol’ Dutch then anymore, will you? And, I’m guessin’ these boys here care about your wellbeing,” he says, slowly sliding the knuckles on. “So, we’re going to give you a bit of encouragement to tell us anything you might have forgot.”

She wriggles in her bounds, but there’s no getting away. She looks up at him defiantly.

 “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?” 

Her eyes flicker toward Sean and Mac, who are watching the scene unfold with wide, angry eyes.

 “I take that as a no,” he grins.

The first blow lands across her cheek, and she lets out an involuntary cry as her head snaps to the side. The second quickly lands in the same place, and Arabella gasps in agony as she feels a crack.

She doesn’t expect the next blow to target her stomach, and she wheezes then, unable to breathe. Blow after blow she soon loses focus, the pain becoming all-consuming.

 “…New Austin! They’re cutting back down to New Austin once they’ve lost the Pinkertons,” Mac is shouting, but it sounds as though he's yelling from worlds away. “Just stop it!”

The scarred man laughs and stops his assault, stepping away as she gasps in agony. “Knew it’d jog your memory.”

He leans right down to Arabella, lips brushing her ear. Bile rises in her throat as she weakly raises her head. “Maybe we’ll have some fun when we get back from seeing your boss, just to show you’re still worth _something_ now that your pretty little face is all marked up.”

She tenses, gritting her teeth. “I swear to god, when I get outta here I’m going to kill you,” she promises softly.

He laughs heartily at that. “Good luck with that one, darlin’. I’ll be seeing you soon,” he croons condescendingly. “C’mon boys! Let’s go catch us an outlaw.

As quickly as they came, the three men leave. As soon as the door closes Mac pulls out the file, working away at his restraints. “We’re getting out of here _right now_.”

“You okay, Belle?” Sean’s staring at her face, wincing, and she bites her lip to hold back a sob. She can feel the cuts and the bruises forming on her face, and she thinks her eye has already swelled up from the assault.

"How bad is it? Really?” she chokes.

“Not gonna lie, lass. It’s… not pretty. We need someone to take a look. You feelin’ okay?”

She winces as everything throbs and aches, and she nods unconvincingly.

Mac works to undo the ropes binding all of them. When he’s done he offers a hand to Arabella, helping her stand on shaky, unsteady legs. She leans against the wall as he looks out the window, and nods for them to come toward the door.

“Alright, it’s getting dark, so I say we just sneak out, steal the horses around the side, and make a run for it,” he says. “Ready?”

Sean wraps an arm around Arabella’s waist, holding her upright. “Ready as we’ll ever be!”

Sean pushes the door open and peeks outside, then motions for them to follow. The men are by a campfire up the hill, singing and drinking and planning for the next day’s hunt.

There’s a group of horses hitched by the back of the cabin, and they grab the strongest of the bunch. Mac helps Belle mount up, still shaking from shock. They spur their horses into action and ride quietly down the hill, careful to avoid making any noises to draw the attention of the bounty hunters. Arabella strokes the neck of the horse she’s riding, a dapple grey Andalusian, and allows herself a moment to relax her mind and take a deep, calming breath.

Then there’s a loud bang, a shout and a yelp, and Mac’s horse rears up ahead of her.

He falls to the ground limp, clutching at his stomach. “Oh fuck!” he grinds out, looking behind them. “You gotta run, get out of here!”

“No! Mac, what– oh  _shit._ ” About five men were racing after them on the remaining horses, brandishing guns.

“Shit, lass,” Sean breathes, eyes wild. “I think they were soberer than we took them for. Go! We’ll catch up.”

“Sean, what about Mac–”

He shakes his head, smiling ruefully as he unpacks a gun off his stolen horse. “Get outta here, Belle! Head north, catch up with the gang. Tell ‘em they’ll see us soon.”

“Go, Belle,” Mac groans, “’m dead weight right now. We’ll see you soon.”

She steels herself and nods once, sharply, and bolts. She forces herself not to turn around but wonders with a tight feeling in her chest if that’s the last time she’ll ever see Mac Callander or Sean MacGuire alive.

“C’mon boy,” she says hoarsely, everything aching as she urges the horse along. “Let’s go home.”


	2. Hindered

Arabella is almost grateful that she’s become numb from the cold mountain air.

After fleeing the bounty hunter camp near Strawberry she hasn’t stopped riding, except to let her stolen horse have a rest and to press ice to her swollen face and torso. There’s just no time to waste - if she can even find the gang up in the mountains, chances are they’re getting ready for the ride back down as she’s making her way up.

Her chest is tight with worry that they’ll move on without knowing she’s coming for them. 

She’s not dressed for the frigid temperatures of Ambarino, still wearing the now tattered dress she had donned for the Blackwater job. The cold is seeping deep into her bones and she’s tired – _so tired_ – but she can’t stop. Not now. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and clicks her tongue to tell her new horse to carry on up the mountain's steep and icy slopes.

Hours pass in a daze of shades of white. Belle shivers as the sun sets, taking away her last source of warmth. She almost thinks she's imagining the sight of lights up ahead, some figment of her imagination or a side effect of whatever injuries she's sustained. But she perks up slightly when she realises if she squints she can make out a cluster of buildings way up in the distance. It’s almost too good to be true, she thinks, but nevertheless continues the slow, arduous trek into the mountains. How many people aside from a wanted gang of outlaws would be stupid enough to be up here during such a frigid time of year?

“C’mon boy, just a little further,” she urges quietly to the horse, which whinnies pitifully beneath her.

She's stubborn and hates to admit it but everything hurts and aches, making concentrating a challenge. She can't utter anything more than a whisper without her throat and face aching, with the bruising and swelling around her eyes and cheeks and along her abdomen stinging and aching much worse than before. Her head aches, too, from where the gun was smashed into her skull. Wincing, she closes her eyes for a moment, trying to focus her thoughts.

“…say something! Don’t come any closer, or I’ll shoot!” a husky voice shouts from ahead, and Arabella’s eyes shoot open in a panic.

She’s disoriented for a moment as she lifts herself up off the neck of her horse and she squints, trying to make out the figure in front of her. He’s rugged up and hunched over in the cold, holding a lantern in one hand and a gun in the other.

The man pauses for a moment, cocking his head as he tries to get a better look. “Who are you?” he says, and Arabella would grin if it didn’t hurt so goddamn much.

“Hey Javier,” she croaks, weakly lifting up a hand in greeting. “Fancy seeing you up here.”

He almost drops the lantern in shock, surging forward come up to the side of her horse. “ _Meirda_! Belle, is that you?”

"The one and only," Belle groans. She flips her leg around on the horse’s saddle and jumps down to greet him but yelps as her legs collapse from underneath her, leaving her sprawled on the wet, icy ground. The world is spinning and she closes her eyes tightly as everything begins to sway.

Javier’s strong arms pull her up out of the snow, and he carries her bridal-style over to cabins she could see from further down the mountain. “Hey, it’s okay. You made it, _chica_. Don’t know how, but you did.”

It's silent and almost peaceful up here, she thinks, before Javier's voice cuts through the night.

“Hey! Can I get some help out here?”

An odd mix of exhaustion and elation runs through her veins. “Never been so glad to see your dumb face, Javier,” Arabella breathes, the tension and stress she's been carrying for days finally beginning to dissipate.

Javier barks out a laugh. “Missed you too, _idiota_. Things have been pretty dismal around here.”

The door to the biggest cabin opens, and Arabella can just see Dutch and Hosea poke their heads out, squinting out into the darkness.

"What is it, Javier? Is that... have you got a body there?" Hosea calls out, concern lacing his tone.

Miss Grimshaw pushes past the two and gasps.

“Oh lord, Javier, is that Miss Johnson? Get her inside, quick!” She hurries out into the snow, skirts dragging through the slush as she pulls them indoors.

Javier is quickly directed to a small room, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the camp.

“Set her down in here, we don’t need everyone crowding the poor girl,” Miss Grimshaw orders, and Javier sets her down gently on the firm, lumpy mattress. “Now, go and get Abigail and tell her to bring some hot water and some medicine. You go and find as many blankets as we can spare. Girl’s been out in the snow for god knows how long, need to get her warmed up...”

Javier nods, quickly disappearing out the door on his mission. Miss Grimshaw kneels by the bed, her stern face softening slightly when she sees the damage done to her face. “Now, what happened to you?”

Arabella closes her eyes tightly, and shifts to face toward the older woman, who inhales sharply as she gets a better look at the dark bruising and swelling.

“Me, Mac and Sean got cut off from everyone at Blackwater. Got ourselves caught by some bounty hunters out near Strawberry,” Arabella murmurs. “Don’t know if they ended up getting away – they made me run while I could.”

“What the hell did they do to you?” Miss Grimshaw says darkly, eyeing the bruising and swelling covering her face. 

Tears prick at the corners of Arabella’s eyes at the usually hardened woman's reaction, but she wills them away.

“They wanted us to tell ‘em where Dutch was,” she whispers. “We refused, so they... they got…”

Miss Grimshaw nods sharply and leans over to squeeze Arabella’s hand. She sighs in relief knowing she doesn’t have to say another word.

“You’re okay now,” the woman says earnestly. “We’ll get you warm and patched up. You can rest easy.”

Arabella nods slowly, then lets her head sink back into the pillow.

She feels dazed as everyone quietly and methodically moves around her. Javier pops back in with blankets, and she’s wrapped in more than she can count in an attempt to bring her body temperature back up. Soon after, Abigail comes in with some hot water and medical supplies, and the two women carefully tend to her wounds.

Careful fingers prod at her swollen cheek and Arabella hisses, flinching away.

"I don't think it's broken. Cracked a little, maybe, but it should be fine as long as we keep an eye on it," Abigail says, gently pressing a rag to the tender skin.

There’s a sharp rap at the door, and Belle cranes her head up to see who it is.

Dutch and Hosea enter the room and Grimshaw tuts at their appearance.

“The girl’s been through a lot, Dutch. Can this wait ‘till morning?” she hisses, wringing out a bloody rag.

Dutch shakes his head and moves toward Arabella’s side, crouching down. “I know you’ve been through a lot these past few days, Arabella, but we need you to tell us what happened out there,” he says, softly. “Do you know what happened to Mac and Sean?”

She nods tiredly. “Bounty hunters got us. Mac got shot again while we were escaping, and Sean stayed back to help. Told me to get out while I could.”

“Were you followed?” Hosea asks, brows knitted together in concern.

She snorts weakly. “No sane person would have come up here in that weather. I’d be more worried about bears than the law. Don't even quite know how I managed to come across this place."

Dutch laughs, clasping Hosea's shoulder. “Don’t you love this girl? Keep an eye on her Miss Grimshaw, she’s had a rough few days. You did good, Belle,” he says, squeezing her shoulder. “We’re glad to see you back with us.”

Arabella smiles ruefully at the two men as they slip out of the room, and suddenly she can’t fight it any longer. She drifts off with the knowledge she’s back where she belongs.

* * *

“Brought some food back, boys!”  Arthur calls as he and Charles roll back into camp.

The corner of Charles’ lip curls up into a smile. It’d been a good trip, and teaching Arthur to use a bow had been a welcome and amusing distraction from the chaos and worries of the past few days. They hitch the horses up by Pearson’s makeshift kitchen, and Charles hops down off Taima and pats her nose.

Arthur smiles as he watches the man, pleased that he was in a better mood. The new recruit had been more reserved and quiet than usual since Blackwater, working himself to the bone despite his injured hand. 

“C’mon, let’s get these over to Pearson–”

“Hey, you’re back!” Javier calls, jogging over from the largest cabin. He’s smiling, and Charles raises an eyebrow - there hasn't been a lot to smile about these past days. “You’ll never guess who stumbled in while you were out hunting.”

Arthur frowns, undoing the binds on the deer they'd hunted. “What are you talkin’ about Javier? Ain't no one stupid enough to follow us up here through that.”

Javier snorts. "Someone might want to tell Belle that."

Charles looks up from Taima, eyes wide. "She's here?"

“Yeah. Found her passed out on a horse just outside camp last night, just after you two left. Must've been riding for days."

“She okay?”

Javier nods, his mouth a firm line. “Well, she’s alive. Grimshaw and the girls have been keeping an eye on her because she's pretty banged up. She’s been asleep pretty much since she got here.”

Charles lets out a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Arthur glances over to him, shaking his head good-naturedly. “Go on and see her, Charles. I’ll get the deer over to Pearson and meet you over there soon.”

Charles steps away from the two men, then hesitates. "You sure? I can help you finish up here-"

"Go on, Charles."

“Thanks, Arthur. I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”

Charles trudges through the snow toward the cabin and steps inside, brushing the snow off his shoulders. He nods to Hosea, who is reading quietly by the fireplace, and knocks on the door. He nudges it open slightly when he hears an inpatient ‘come in’ from Miss Grimshaw.

“Oh, it’s you Mr Smith,” she sighs. She’s sitting in the chair by Belle’s side and sets down the book she’s reading on a nearby table. “Would you mind sitting with Miss Johnson for a bit? Nothing much more we can do except wait ‘til she wakes up, and I’d kill for a cup of coffee after the night we’ve had.”

“Of course,” he says, brows knitted together in concern. “How's she doing?”

Her face pinches. “She’ll be alright. She’s freezing and hasn’t eaten in days, but the worst is the beating she got,” she says sombrely, shaking her head. “Anyway. Thank you, Mr Smith. I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” he says softly, settling into the chair.

Belle looks so small wrapped up in all these blankets, he thinks, her dark hair stark against her paled olive skin – pale, except for the bruising and swelling of her face. His eyes widen as he takes a closer look, and a surge of anger courses through him as he realises the cause of the extensive beating the girl had received.

He grits his teeth, frustrated at the way the job had ended. He knew she could handle herself, but that didn't make seeing her like this any easier. 

* * *

When she wakes up, she can’t move.

Arabella doesn’t know where she is or how she got there, but there’s something weighing her down and everything hurts. A hand grasps her shoulder and she cries out, trying to lash out, but she can’t free her arms and–

“Belle, hey. You’re safe,” a low, calm voice murmurs beside her. She tries to open her eyes but one is swollen shut, so she cranes her head to seek out the source of the voice.

“What– Charles?” she croaks, eyebrows furrowed. “Where are we?”

The room is small, wooden beams lining the walls and the roof. Charles sits off to the side of the bed she’s in, his figure illuminated by lamplight.

He moves to kneel beside the bed. “We’re at a place called Colter. Little abandoned town up in the mountains,” he says, eyeing her injuries with concern. “Can you remember anything?”

“I... can hardly even remember getting here,” she says, blinking slowly. “Everything’s such a blur.”

“Javier found you outside. You must have been riding for days,” he says, forehead creased. “Do you remember where you were after Blackwater?”

She thinks for a moment, then winces, memories of the past few days slowly returning to her. “Yeah. We were taken by bounty hunters to a camp out near Strawberry."

“And they did this to you?”

She averts her eyes, fingers toying with the soft blankets piled on top of her. She hums in affirmation. “We wouldn’t tell them anything, so they decided to get creative.”

“Belle–”

“What are you doing in here with me? Would’ve thought they’d put you to work.”

He holds up a bandaged hand, grimacing. “Just got back from teaching Arthur how to hunt. Dutch and Hosea won't let me do much more to help. Burned my hand on the ferry,” he sighs, face set in a frown. “Grimshaw’s been in here all night keeping an eye on you so I said I’d take over for a bit. Most of the others are prepping for a train job Dutch has planned.”

“Did everybody else get out okay? How’s Davey? He didn’t look too good last I saw him.”

Charles ducks his head, jaw set. “He's dead. Jenny too. It’s been a bad few days.”

“Oh, god,” she says quietly. “What a shit show.” Arabella is silent for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek and toying with the blanket as she processes the past few days.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says hoarsely. His eyes are trained on her fingers, tangled with the blankets, and refuse to meet her own.

She tilts her head to the side in surprise and furrows her brows. “What on earth for?”

He blinks, confused. “That... this happened to you. There should have been something we could have done. We were meant to stick together, and–”

She holds up a hand and the corner of her mouth quirks. “Don’t be sorry. It was our own fault," she shakes her head. "We got cut off, and we were stupid enough to walk into a trap. Just glad most of you got out safe.”

Charles opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a slow knock at the door. Arthur pops his head in. “Can I come in?”

She glances toward Charles, then to the door. “Yeah, of course, Arthur."

“Good to see you in one piece," he says, smiling as he moves toward her bedside. His smile soon falters, however, when he catches sight of her face.  “What did they do to you?” he asks, teeth gritted.

“Bounty hunters didn’t like that we wouldn’t tell them where Dutch was, so they got creative with trying to get us to talk.”

He steps closer, arms across his chest. “What did they _do_ to you?”

Charles looks at him incredulously, “Belle, you don’t have to–”

“They hit me when they first found us,” she interrupts, her green eyes hardened. “After I woke up later and they’d interrogated the boys, they got out some brass knuckles for my turn. Thought they’d have a better chance of somebody talking if they hurt me first.”

Charles winces.

“Mac got us out, undid the ropes.” Her breath catches in her throat. “I’m… I’m glad he did because it sounded like they had other plans for me once they got back from trying to find Dutch. The boys made sure I got out, they were still there fighting when I ran."

Arthur turns away to pace the room, running a hand through his short, sandy hair.   

“Do you remember what they looked like?” Charles asks, eyes dark with anger.

“Don't worry, I won’t be forgetting their faces any time soon,” she replies. “I don't like killing, but I'm telling you now - when I see them again, I’m putting a bullet in their head.”

Arthur turns, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean, _when_ you see them again?"

"Well, we're going to get Sean and Mac back, right?"

Arthur scoffs, crossing his arms. "You just got outta there, and now you want to go back?"

"They'd do the same for me," she says resolutely.

There’s another sharp rap at the door and Hosea enters, a book in hand. He steps into the small room and pauses, picking up on the tense atmosphere. "Oh, am I... interrupting something here?"

"Not at all," Arthur says quickly, shooting Belle a raised brow as if to say the conversation was not over. Charles stands from his spot beside her bed, and gestures for the older man to take the seat. Hosea settles into the chair and nods gratefully.

“How’re you feeling, Arabella?”

“Better. Still a bit sore," she says, forcing a smile. "Think things are on the up though, considering I somehow found you all in one piece."

He grins warmly, patting her hand. “Good, we need you strong again.” He looks up toward the boys pointedly. “Now, I’m afraid Arthur and Charles are needed for a little job with Dutch and the boys, so you’re going to be stuck with my company for a bit.”

The corner of her mouth twists up. “I suppose I can cope with that.”

Arthur nods to her. “We’ll see you later Belle. You rest up.”

She locks eyes with Charles who opens his mouth to speak, but is ushered away out the door by Arthur before he can get the words out.

"Now, where were we... ah! Here we go," Hosea said, before he began to read from his earmarked copy of  _The Case of the Deceitful German._  

" _And just as our last adventures had ended, so a new adventure was about to begin..._ "


End file.
